The Girls Across the Hall

She placed her hand on mine. I tensed up but didn't move. "One weekend a few years ago, Sly had a particularly bad episode. He was heading to work at the theater at his old school, minding his own business. Two men, who didn't know him at all but saw his ponytail, started shouting insults and gay slurs at him, pushing him around. When he got to work, he was shaking. He tried a shot of bourbon to calm his nerves, then two or three more. Nothing helped. He sat on the dressing room floor, hands around his knees, rocking back and forth until he passed out, totally exhausted."

A tear welled up in Sylvia's eye. She placed her hand on my chin and turned my head, so I was looking into her eyes. "When Sly awoke, he looked in the bathroom mirror and saw me looking back at him."

WTF?

"As near as we could tell, in his weakened state, Sly created a persona that could experience everything he wanted to, but safely. This persona would be desirable to men and didn't have to fear being abused for their sexuality. During his blackout, Sly had transformed himself into that persona. Me."

I was trying to process all of this. I stammered, "You're Sly?"

That warm smile I remembered spread across her lips. "Yes and no." She began. "This is Sly's body, underneath all of this. But I, Sylvia, am a different persona that is a part of Sly's whole person. I started as a safety net for Sly and evolved into an alter ego. At first, I would only emerge when Sly was passed out or very tired. Eventually, Sly learned how to summon me and shed me voluntarily." She paused to let this sink in. She reached over to the table, picked up Sly's wineglass, and took a sip. "He won't mind." A ring of shiny pale-red lipgloss lingered on the glass.

"Sly told his doctors about all this. They were, at first, rather concerned. But his health and disposition improved so dramatically that they were hesitant to meddle. He was able to demonstrate the he was in complete control of himself and his alter ego. He remains under professional care, but his bouts of anxiety are very few and far between. So, for a few years now, Sly slips me on and off like a comfortable coat whenever he wants or needs me."

She paused to let me process all of this. After a minute, she said simply, "Talk to me. What are you thinking."

I was thinking that at least one, possibly two - or was it three? - people in this conversation had lost their mind. "You keep talking about Sly in the third person. Why?"

"Because I am not Sly. He's elsewhere. I know everything he knows, and he knows everything I know. We share literally everything. But when I am around, it is important that Sly is not. If I acted like Sly and I are the same person, here at the same time, the therapeutic value of Sylvia goes away. Sly needs to be able to relinquish control and feel totally safe in me. If we begin to blur the lines, the anxiety and fear return."

My head was spinning, and not because of the wine. This was all very hard to take in. And speaking of hard, I was somewhat mortified that by virtue of sitting a hair's width away from what appeared to be a gorgeous redhead I had gotten aroused. Hearing her talking about Sly as if he were a different person was lending believability to the idea that I was in a room alone with a beautiful woman. But that wasn't the case.

"No. You are a gay guy who is cross-dressing. All of this is nonsense. You're trying to make me look like an idiot. Or worse, turn me gay. It's bad enough that I can't talk to women, now you are mocking me by dressing and acting like a woman." I got up to leave but Sylvia grabbed my hand.

"That hurts, Chris. I have no mean intentions. Just the opposite. When you told me about your anxiety it was so familiar to me. Sly found a way to manage it and I thought I might have a way to help you, too."

"How? By trying to distract me with sexy clothes and makeup? Convince me that you're a woman? I KNOW you're not a woman. Do you want to know how? Because I am talking to you! If I believed you were a woman, I'd be paralyzed."

"No. You are talking to me because you think you are talking to Sly. And in a way, you are. He hears you. And he agrees with everything I am saying to you. You can be as comfortable with me as you are with Sly. But Sly is a gay man, with no desire to turn you gay or make love to you as a man. I'm a woman, who loves expressing her sexuality without fear of reproach."

I pulled my hand out of her grip and started for the door. "Wait!" she cried. "Let me show you something." I didn't like how that sounded, but she stood up, walked to the bedroom and closed the door.

"Chris?" It was Sly's voice. "Come talk to me for a moment."

"What do you want to talk about?" I said, still standing in the doorway.

"You and me, and I'd like to do it without shouting across the room." I walked back in and stood outside Sly's bedroom door. "I know this is a lot to digest. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, especially with some wine in us. It's just that when we were talking you sounded so unhappy with your situation. And I hoped what saved me might also help you. I don't want this to ruin our friendship before it begins. I've enjoyed this evening, but I guess there's no going back now. Either you'll understand that there is a guy named Sly who lives across the hall and some women who visit from time to time who'd like to get to know you ..."

"Wait. Women?"

"Yes. You know Sylvia of course. You met Felicia, my pseudo-sister. You've seen some of the others. Each is slightly different. They provide me an opportunity to do different things. When I wish to give up control for a while, the one that emerges is usually the one I needed the most. When I stepped away, I knew I wanted to let you meet one of the ladies. I was surprised that it was Sylvia who emerged. She can be rather forward. I guess she thought that a confident seductress would help land the message that I really want to share my girlfriends with you."

My knees were weak, and my hands were shaking. This whole situation was overwhelming. Forty-five minutes earlier I was commiserating with a really nice neighbor who I thought I could become good friends with. What I thought was idle conversation, to break some of the tension about our respective mental illnesses, now appeared to be carefully chosen words trying to plant a seed. Too bad one of those male friends couldn't also be a woman - that's what he said. He was telling me something and I hadn't heard it. It wasn't a paradox. It was an admission.

"I'm sorry, Sly. This is all too much. I better leave."

The bedroom door flew open and Sylvia walked out. "We're sorry," she said. "I thought you'd maybe enjoy this, but I also knew it would be hard to handle. If Sly had tried to tell you about me, you'd have been completely turned off. We hoped that if I explained it to you, it would be easier to accept that I am real, as real as Sly. Just different. We'll stay out of your way for now. If you don't want to talk to me or Sly or any of the other girls, that's OK. We understand."

Before I could react, Sylvia had wrapped her arms around me, giving me a hug. Every muscle in my body tensed up. The perfume in her hair made me dizzy. After a moment, she let go of me and I felt a soft kiss on my lips. There was no ulterior motive; she did it as if she was saying goodbye to a friend or loved one. Nothing seductive or suggestive about it.

She gave me a slightly sad but still warm smile. She used her thumb to wipe the little smear of gloss she had left from my lips.

It was that tiny, thoughtful, tender gesture that made me see Sylvia. Somehow, at that moment, Sly disappeared. I couldn't comprehend that this woman was anything else, could be anyone else. The kiss had shocked me, but the gentle touch on my lips to wipe them clean was such a naturally feminine thing to do, done reflexively. This wasn't play-acting. This was a woman.

Sylvia saw the expression on my face change and misread it completely. "Oh my god," she cried out, "I am so sorry. I never should have done that. I wasn't even thinking." She turned away and started toward the bedroom, tears starting to stream down her cheeks.

"It was nice," I said softly.

She stopped. With her back turned to me, maybe afraid to look at my face, she asked, "It was?"

"I'd never been kissed on the lips before. Except by my grandmother, which is gross." We both laughed at that. "It was nice," I repeated.

"I'm glad. This probably wasn't how you'd imagined your first kiss would be."

"You'd be surprised. I wanted it to be soft and have it mean something. With someone I know and trust."

She turned around to me. "Did it?" she asked softly.

"I think so."

"I'm glad." She walked closer to me. "Would you like another kiss?" Again, no hard sell, no lasciviousness. Just a heartfelt offer from a friend. Exactly as I'd always hoped.

"Yes please." She placed her hand on the side of my face and leaned in. Her lips were soft and pillowy. There was no rush, no aggression, no feverish intensity. Her lips touching mine, pushing together slightly. It lasted no more than few seconds, but it felt like eternity. This was a moment I had dreamed of since the day I first noticed girls. It was also a moment I never dreamed would happen. And two minutes earlier, it was a moment I never would have dreamed I'd be sharing with Sylvia.

We broke the kiss and Sylvia took me by the hand and led me to the couch. "Come, sit." I sat down next to her. I could tell she was still a little nervous, like this could all blow up in an instant. I looked at her face, her eyes, her lips. All I saw was Sylvia. As I memorized each detail, I couldn't imagine thinking this was anyone else.

"You're real," I said.

"Yes," she smiled back.

We leaned into each other and our lips touched again. My third kiss was considerably longer than my first two. Sylvia slid her lips back and forth over mine, letting me savor their texture. When I felt the touch of her tongue on my lips, I felt like I was hit by lightning. She noticed me twitch and she laughed between the kisses. "Part your lips a little," she whispered. I complied and was rewarded with Sylvia's tongue gently pushing into my mouth, finding my tongue, swirling around it. "Now you," she urged. I pushed my tongue between her lips and clumsily flopped it back and forth. We both laughed this time.

Our backs and necks were straining a bit. Making out on the couch side by side makes for some interesting body positions. Clearly Sylvia wanted me to enjoy every second of this with no distraction or discomfort. She stood up, threw one leg over me and straddled me, her knees resting on the couch on either side of me. I only had to tilt my head back a tiny bit to receive her wet urgent kisses.

I felt her hand come to rest on my chest. Her fingertips found one of my nipples and started rubbing little circles around it, very gently. It was a weird sensation, but I liked it, which was obvious from the guttural moan I let out. We broke the kiss and stared into each other's eyes. There was a part of me that expected to suddenly wake up in sweat-soaked sheets in my own room - this was surreal and too good to be true. And too good was about to get better.

She started moving her hand down my chest toward my groin. I had gotten hard as a rock the moment she kissed me - well, the second time she kissed me. I'm not sure why I felt a little embarrassed because I had a raging hard-on, but I did. Sylvia didn't seem to mind. Her hand stopped just above my waist. "This is going quickly. If I do anything you don't like or aren't ready for, just say so. OK? Promise?"

I nodded dumbly. At this point I was unable to think clearly and was along for the ride. Her hand roamed past my belt and came to rest on my crotch. It was heavenly. She gently scraped her nails over the bulge and sighed when she felt it twitch beneath her fingertips. I was breathing heavily, watching as she traced the outline of my cock.

"May I take it out?" she asked, with a slightly hungry look on her face. I nodded. My mouth had gone dry and I doubt I could have spoken. Fortunately for me, Sylvia didn't need me to say or do anything. She was in control. She undid my belt, unsnapped my jeans, pulled down the zipper and tugged. I lifted my butt off the couch and my pants slid to the floor. She stretched the waistband of my boxers and gently lowered them past my now throbbing cock. I don't exactly have a porn star dick, but it was a bit over seven inches and of average width. Sylvia seemed pleased. "This cock has gone unappreciated for too long. That ends today!" She eyed my cock for a moment longer and then she uttered the sexiest words I had ever heard.

"Relax. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. I really enjoy doing this. You're going to love it."

I felt like I had stopped breathing, the anticipation was killing me. I was longing to feel her fingers - damn, any fingers other than mine - wrap around my cock and stroke it. Instead, I felt her hand cradle my balls and softly roll them back and forth in the palm of her hand. Still cradling the sac, she placed her thumb and index finger on either side and began a gentle massage. It was soothing and arousing. I loved it. I wanted her to keep doing it forever. I had never imagined how good this could feel.

My cock was pulsing up and down with my heartbeat. It was almost comical, for me, but Sylvia just looked excited. I was blissed out with her ball massage, but I was still longing for my cock to get some attention, even though it almost felt like she could make me cum just by fondling my scrotum.

"Do you like how this feels, honey?" she asked.

A hissed "yes" was all I could manage.

"OK. I want you to really relax and trust me. Don't move a muscle. Let me do everything. Promise?" I nodded vigorously.

Her right hand remained beneath my balls and my eyes widened as she moved her left hand toward my shaft. "This is it," I thought to myself. Her fingers were within an inch of my cockhead, but she just closed her hand and placed it back on my thigh. I was in agony. But just for a moment.

She paused to make sure I was looking her in the eyes. Mine went as wide as saucers as she, without breaking eye contact, lowered her mouth on to the head of my cock. I was surprised I didn't explode right then. She held my cockhead between her lips nursing the tip, probing my pee-hole with the tip of her tongue. It was exquisite.

I had watched enough porn to know what a "real" blowjob looked like. Head bobbing frantically up and down, hands stroking vigorously, the occasional gag as the starlet opens her throat muscles and takes the guy balls deep. Sylvia's blowjob was nothing like that.

It was slow and sacred. She never took more than the head of my cock in her mouth. She didn't have to. She was able to provide otherworldly pleasure with the simplest and softest of movements. And she wanted it to go slowly. Like a first kiss, a first blowjob should be memorable, and she was making mine unforgettable.

With a slow steady rhythm, she applied suction to my cockhead while swishing her tongue around my slit. She stopped to lick beneath the head, then clamped her lips back and resumed sucking. Her mouth never moved more than an inch up and down the shaft. She alternated between licking and sucking a few more times. She stopped licking, and then planted a soft kiss on the head of my cock. Then she winked at me - that same sexy wink she gave me when we first met - and took my cock between her lips one final time. The rhythm of her sucking was slower but the suction was more intense. How could anything feel so good?

It was the subtlest of changes, but the position of her hand on my balls shifted slightly; her finger tips were still massaging the side, but the edge of her palm was pressing harder just behind my balls. That tiny change in pressure was like throwing a switch. The suction of her lips, even slower now, was drawing me closer and closer to the edge. I recalled her words - don't move a muscle - and forced myself to try to relax and let her control everything.

I had given myself countless orgasms, so I of course knew what it felt like when it was about to happen. This was different. I wasn't pushing myself to climax; I was being softly pulled. A tiny bit more pressure behind my balls and a long slow wet suckle on my cock and it began. Like a roller coaster, between the steady climb up the first incline and the runaway energy of freefall, there was a moment where it seemed like everything stopped. Agonizingly and gloriously slowly I slipped over the edge. Two decades of anxiety and curiosity and loneliness and sexual tension were released. It wasn't an explosion. It was more like an avalanche, starting slowly and building in intensity and volume as it descends. I wasn't shooting sperm skyward in clipped spurts, like I had done in the past. This felt like I was pumping it from deep within me, a pulsing stream that seemed endless.

Sylvia's eyes glittered as she swallowed everything she had coaxed out of me. Her lips never moved, never stopped nursing the tip until well after the climax ended and I began to grow soft. Every lingering drop was extracted by her lusciously talented mouth. When at last the orgasm had run its course, she released my totally depleted ball sac, kissed the top my cock one last time, sat up and took a sip of wine.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank ME?" I blurted. "Are you crazy? Thank YOU! That was amazing. I can't believe how lucky I am to have experienced that. And that you were willing to do this for me. I just ... I ..." I was having trouble putting into words what I was feeling.

Mercifully, Sylvia took care of that. She placed a fingertip on my lips, said, "Shhhhh," and then kissed me.

We sat on the couch for a while, not saying anything, leaning against each other and occasionally kissing. Basking in the afterglow of my first - and probably unbeatable - sexual experience was itself powerfully pleasurable. At some point, my manners kicked in and I asked the question whose answer I was somewhat dreading. "Is there something I can do for you, Sylvia?"

"You already did, honey. You accepted me."

"No, I mean, well, you know, something to pleasure you?"

She laughed. "That is pleasurable for me. You wouldn't have noticed but I was getting quite worked up, too."

"Right, ok, but I mean I got to cum. It seems only fair ..."

"Stop right there. We're not keeping score."

"OK. But don't you need to, I don't know, relieve the tension?" Sylvia smiled but said nothing. I took that as my hint to change the subject. Which I did. "I've had a lot of wine and I'm hungry. Would you like to get something to eat? I can order in some food."

"Thanks, Chris. That's sweet of you, but I think I am going to retire for the evening." She kissed me on the mouth, brief but with intensity. "I really enjoyed being with you tonight. I hope we can do it again. Sleep on it. You're welcome to discuss things with Sly when he gets back. And I'll be around." With that she walked back into the bedroom and closed the door.

I went back to my apartment on auto-pilot. I went online, ordered a pizza, and waited for it to arrive. I assumed that I'd have trouble sleeping that night. My head was still spinning over everything I saw and heard today. Plus, there was my first kiss and my first blowjob. All of that was sure to keep me awake.

Which is why I was so surprised when I woke up the next morning, asleep on my couch, a half-eaten slice of pizza still on the table. I couldn't remember ever sleeping that soundly. I took a shower and was considering what to do for the day when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it and Sly was standing there. "May I come in?" he asked.

I paused for a moment looking at his face. "Sure," I said.